


Little Badger

by AndSheWasBeautiful



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Prequel, Present Tense, pre-fantastic beasts and where to find them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8694541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndSheWasBeautiful/pseuds/AndSheWasBeautiful
Summary: Because before Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, there was lonely boy spending every waking moment at the edge of the forbidden forest, avoiding the contact of the real monsters within the castle walls - and before Tina Goldstein, there was Leta Lestrange. An exploration into the manipulative relationship that would shape Newt's already poor understanding of humans.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I have to make clear for my own sanity that I do not ship Leta with Newt in the slightest. I see Newt as an autistic young man, something not addressed within the magical community, rather laughed at and goaded for being strange and reclusive. I see Leta as an impulsive, fickle young woman, an outsider by her own choosing unlike Newt. I am fascinated to explore the relationship they had at Hogwarts, and Newt's obvious misplaced feelings for her, possibly as the only girl he has ever loved. I believe this relationship is key in delving deeper in my preferred ship of the series, Newt x Tina, because they are simply PERFECTION, but I think until Newt can deal with demons left flitting around his mind by Miss Lestrange and finally chuck out that old picture, it can't happen.
> 
> There will be a shout out for any reviewer who can spot all the subtle overbearing, manipulative and possibly cruel qualities running through Leta, here and in the next chapter, where we will meet Newt's creature, and hopefully progress through a few of their years and subsequent adventures before Newt's expulsion. Thanks for reading, a review would be delightful.

**Little Badger**

* * *

He feels the piercing burn of dark eyes in the back of his head before he even hears her breathe. She is silent, glued to the corner behind him, peeking out to watch. She's been doing this for a little while now, maybe for fifteen minutes a time when he comes down here, just beyond the greenhouses, and he's been doing it for around a month.

Try as he might, he cannot bring himself to turn. He has talked himself into it countless times, reasoned out that he should be more cautious, fretted over the fact that she could see what he's doing and tell someone, a teacher or  _worse_ \- other students.

At the thought of other students finding his sanctuary, his heart begins to race once more and he rubs the back of his neck in anxious thought.

No, Newt thinks. No that wouldn't be good at all.

He hears a tinkle from behind him, and he draws a deep breath, setting his wand down on the bench he is standing at and biting his lip so hard, he is sure he will draw blood. The breath sits at the top of his chest, and he holds it there before he hears the tinkle once more.

Newt cannot bring himself to turn.

His face burns red and he clasps the work bench before clearing his throat.

"P- … please leave me… alone," his voice peters off, and he curses himself for how weak he sounds. He draws breath again and spits out his next words in a rush. "I'm not doing anything wrong, I promise, so please if you could just go… that would be… quite…"

No more words come and he rubs his forehead with the back of his hand, feeling the faintest touch of perspiration.

He truly loathes talking to people.

"Quite lonely, I should think."

The voice is coming from directly behind his own head, and he starts, leaping round and almost completely out of his skin.

The girl laughs, her dark eyes twinkling softly and brings her hand up to cover her mouth as she does. The same tinkling sound rings as she does, from the long earrings she wears, silver inset with emeralds. Her skin is unlike any Newt has ever properly seen, like mahogany wood, radiant like there is some fire alight below it. Her long dark curls are swept back from her high cheek bones in a thick braid, which she has slung over her shoulder so it hangs down to her waist. She stops laughing, her eyes still filled with glee and Newt gulps, truly lost for words.

She is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen.

She eyes him carefully as his eyes flicker from her face downwards, to her neck and slightly further. She snorts as he stares, an almost fear painting his features.

"Are you staring at my chest? Because you won't see much through the robes, I promise. Not that there's much there anyway. Or -?" The girl stops her fast speech and follows his eyes to her tie, flickering to the crest on her robes. She rolls her eyes and grins, his eyes moving back to her face, careful to stray around the edge of her hairline and never fall into those dark pits. She deliberately tries to make eye contact with him to which he recoils and looks away from her face altogether.

"Is it the Slytherin tie that's got you so worried? Poor little badger," she smiles softly, angelically, her teeth smooth and pearly. "I promise I don't bite."

His lips twist into a pained little smile and he turns away from her again. She reaches out and grabs his arm, yanking him back round to his surprise. He dislodges his arm from her grip, uncomfortable with the grasp of human fingers.

"I must confess; I've never seen you before… what's your name?"

She seems to teeter on the balls of her feet, full of energy and awaiting his answer with excitement. His lips can't seem to force out the syllables which form his name and his eyes flicker back to her again, causing a nervous little laugh to escape instead. He clears his throat and scratches the back of his head once more.

"I'm Newton… Scamander. Nice to meet you," he manages to blurt out to which the girl raises a thick but well-kept brow in reply.

"Scamander… I've heard of Theseus Scamander. Not a Newton though. Is someone overshadowed a smidge?" her smile has a small edge to it, and Newt frowns, going to turn away before she tilts her head to one side and laughs again. "Newton seems awfully serious though. Don't your friends call you Newt?"

Newt is unsure if the twist of his lips is a smile or a grimace, but the words that leave his them are quiet and uncomfortable.

"My mother."

The girl makes a small 'o' shape with her mouth, perhaps understanding his implication.

"I'm Leta Lestrange. It's a pleasure Newt!"

Her smile seems to light up the small area around them and Newt must swallow back his bewilderment at her. People never voluntarily converse with him, unless it is to ask for a spare quill, or to throw vicious insults at him. Her eyes flicker behind his head and she lifts a hand tentatively to point.

"What are you hiding out here, Newt? I've been careful to pop off before you've gone to feed whatever it is you're dismembering those flubberworms for, because I knew you would see me. I thought today though, you might let me come with you. Is it an animal?"

Her excitement seems to bubble up and out of her every orifice, and Newt's heart leaps with the same maddening joy he feels every time he so much as thinks of one of the magical beasts who dwell within the Forbidden Forest. He swallows this excitement and tries to be rational.

_You don't know this girl, Newt, you don't know what she's like or capable of – she's a Lestrange too, and that doesn't bode well for being overly trustworthy…_

"My goodness Newt, I can practically see the gears churning in your mind. Don't you trust me? If I had wanted to tell on you, I would have by now," she reasons, her eyes twinkling - something dark in their depths perhaps? Her smile is sly then. "I was telling a little fib earlier when I said I hadn't heard of you. Those Gryffindors I have Potions with can be awfully cruel can't they?" She juts out her bottom lip, and Newt glances at Leta, beautiful and soft and capable of making him wary without even meaning to. "They say you're a little freak. That you don't talk to anyone, that you spend all your waking hours down on the forest edge with Care for Magical Creatures… it does seem like awfully odd behaviour."

Leta pauses for an instant, tilting her head and watching him like a cat.

"But _I_  don't think you're a freak Newt. My grandmother kept a Fwooper when I was younger – it's plumes were the brightest emerald I've ever laid eyes on. I adored that creature. It was frightfully annoying when the Silencing Charm wore off every month or so and it would start sqwauking, but we trained it eventually to stay silent all on its own. I haven't seen a creature like it since she died, and they took it away."

Newt watched Leta, his heart swelling with joy over hearing another person speak so vibrantly about magical beasts – his joy pounded so loudly through his veins that he neglected to pay much attention to the actual content of her speech, rather the reverence with which she spoke of the bird.

"You'll show me your pet, won't you little badger?"

He grins with delight and hands her a small bucket of flubberworms before meeting her dark eyes briefly and inclining his head towards the edge of the forest.

"Come on then," he says, smile bright and feeling only as he did when he was in the company of kneazles and bowtruckles.

Leta Lestrange follows the strange little Newt, eyes trained on the back of his curly head.


	2. 2

Newt leads Leta across the slightly marshy ground behind the Herbology greenhouses, buckets of flubberworms in hand, wisps of cold breath leaving their parted lips and curling up into the cold air like dragon’s smoke. They walk in silence, although Newt is certain Leta is as excited to see what he is keeping so secret, as he is to show it to her. They reach the edge of the forest before long, and Newt turns directly towards a large oak tree, slowing down as he does so, and gesturing back with his hand for Leta to do the same. She slows behind him, until her body is close enough to his that he feels the warmth radiate from her. He swallows down a blush as best he can, before rounding to the opposite side of the tree, hidden from view of the grounds, to a hollowed out centre, covered by sprawling bramble and thorns. He sets the bucket down on the sodden ground, and Leta does the same, watching in rapt fascination as he leans forth and with one hand gently moves the brambles and thorns so they reveal what is hiding inside the tree.   
“Now, she’s not used to strangers, so you’ll have to stay behind me,” Newt manages, his confidence slightly raised due to his giddy delight at being so close to the beast. “She’s still getting used to me, but that’s alright. Don’t want her too dependent or she’ll never be able to free again.”   
He removes his glove as Leta strains to see anything hiding among the tear shaped nest of moss and twigs, and she watches Newt lift a handful of the worms and slowly extend his hand into the nest.   
A small head perks up, a brown beak speckled with green and brilliantly bright eyes blink to see Newt. The beak snatches the worms greedily, before the small bird pulls itself from its comfortable spot of camouflage to gorge on the things. Leta gasps as she sees the emerald plumage beginning to sprout upon the birds head, the short tail feathers which she knows are months away from developing into a grand sweeping clump of vivid greens. Newt picks up a handful of the worms and nudges Leta with his elbow to grasp her attention. She glances at him, lost for words, and takes the worms he offers her in the palm of her hands. Carefully, she imitates his movements and dangles them just above the little bird’s head, feeding them to it as slowly as it will allow her. A low, dulcet, throb of a cry emits from the little bird, in delight. Leta’s face lights up once more with that brilliant smile, and Newt can’t help but glance away from his prize for one moment to see it.   
“That’s an augurey, isn’t it? Is it a baby?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Newt decides he prefers her voice this way, rather than boisterous and loud, and he grins in response to the calm he feels wash over him. Creatures have this effect on people, this soothing feeling that washes over him.  
“She’s not quite a chick, but not quite a grown up. It’s unusual for augureys to lay eggs this time of year, so I suspect the centaurs in the forest must have killed her mother for meat, thinking they were safe in the knowledge she would have no offspring to support. I found Selphie alone and hungry when I was out looking for bowtruckles at the end of last month. So I built her this nest and I’ve been feeding her since…”  
He trails off and Leta looks at him with a mask of shock upon her face. She giggles softly, distracting the bird with more worms.  
“I don’t know what to be more shocked about,” she says finally, as Newt glances at her. “The fact you named this augurey ‘Selphie’, the fact that you’ve kept it alive on your own for a month, or the sheer amount you just spoke. I don’t think anyone’s ever heard you talk so much Newt!”   
Newt allows himself a tight laugh and nods his head.   
“All valid, I suppose,” he says, as Selphie finishes her worms and headbutts his hand rather brusquely. She nips him with her beak to which he doesn’t even flinch and Leta watches with amazement.  
“You’ve had enough, you greedy girl. I want you to be able to fly, not fall to the ground from being so fat,” he laughs, allowing her to nip him some more before scratching the tiny plumage on her head. Leta watches, dumbstruck.  
“You have quite a gift, Newt.”   
Her words are almost reverent and he blushes, shaking his head.   
“No, no… not a gift. I just accord them the same respect I would expect from anyone else,” he says quietly, going to fluff some of the feathers in Selphie’s nest up a bit. Leta watches him questioningly.   
“Yet you receive so little respect from your own kind.”   
Newt’s lips twist into an uncomfortable smile and he bashfully shrugs his shoulders.   
“Many humans believe they are above all else – even other humans. That’s why I prefer my creatures. If you give the right kind of creature the right kind of respect, they’ll never throw it back in your face.”   
Leta watches the strange little Hufflepuff boy carefully, nodding as she does. Suddenly, a thought comes to her, sending slight panic to arise within her. Newt seems to notice, glancing sideways.   
“I’ve just remembered – when augureys cry, isn’t someone supposed to die?!”  
Newt laughs at that, a proper little chortle, and scratches the back of his head as Selphie quirks her own little head with curiosity.   
“Well I’ve spent a lot of time out here with Selphie crying for her mother and I haven’t died yet. Contrary to that superstition, I believe that augureys in fact only cry when – “  
Before he can finish his sentence, Selphie sits straight up and lets out a long, low, throbbing cry, mournful and slow, before seconds later, a clap of thunder rings out and a fat raindrop falls on Leta’s nose. Newt grins at Selphie before looking once more at Leta, this time not shying from direct eye contact with her, utterly in his element.   
“When it’s about to rain.” 

-

After hastily covering up her nest and assuring he would return tomorrow with more food, Newt throws his scarf over his head and motions to Leta to follow him back across the marshy grass to the greenhouses. Leta laughs and throws her scarf over her own head, before snatching Newt’s hand up tight and tugging him along behind her, scarves doing little to protect them from the sudden downpour. By the time they reach the greenhouses, they are soaked through to the bone, and Leta is laughing hysterically.  
“I can’t believe it – I can’t believe it! You rescued an augurey and you’ve been keeping it alive and your basically it’s mother!”  
“Her,” Newt amends softly. “Selphie is a ‘she’ not an ‘it’.”   
Leta waves her hand as though she was batting his comment away, but smiles again, capturing all his attention and shyness at once.   
“Still, it’s so impressive Newt! Please let me come and help you feed her again?”   
Newt knows that he should refuse, that having Leta tag along is conspicuous as she is loud and vivid. He opens his mouth to do so, but finds he can’t get the words out, as Leta clasps her hands pleadingly together. He frowns before bobbing his head in a short nod, to which Leta squeals in delight and throws her arms around his neck in a tight hug.  
“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you Newt! Oh I can’t wait, I’ll even read up a bit on them so I know more about how to act around it! Shall we meet here tomorrow again then?”  
She says all this so fast, without taking a breath and Newt is taken aback for a moment.  
Did this girl – this beautiful, interesting, bright girl honestly want to be his friend?   
“That sounds just fine,” he replies, his voice hoarse.   
She reaches down and squeezes his hand, with another squeal of delight, before shaking some of the rain droplets from her head so they land on his own. She giggles, and turns to leave before turning back and eyeing him carefully.  
“I’ll go back to the castle first. Wouldn’t want people seeing us together, now would we?”  
With that she is gone in a flutter of clinking silver and green and Newt is left alone in the greenhouse, soaking wet and slightly breathless.   
As he goes to collect his bag and penknife, he mulls over her last statement.  
She must have meant that she didn’t want people seeing them together to avoid suspicion of what they were doing in the greenhouse.   
Newt smiles softly to himself.  
Yes, that must be it.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s her 16th birthday, and her dark eyes sparkle that mischievous sparkle as she dives around the corner towards him, where he waits with his palms clasped tightly, and she pushes her index finger to her lips as she grasps his hand and pulls him down a corridor he has never seen before, into the bowels of the castle, dark and endless.   
She presses herself into an alcove, lit poorly by a dying oil lamp, so he can see the shimmer from her dark skin, the shine of her thick, dark curls framing her face. She is wearing her favourite emerald earrings, always present no matter how many times she is told to remove them, and they tinkle in that familiar sound of Leta.   
She raises a thick brow and and grins.   
“Well, what have you got me little badger?”  
Newt grins shyly, that furious blush that seems ever present on his face when he is around Leta crawling up his cheeks and rendering speech almost impossible. He glances at her, meeting those dark eyes for a moment before lifting his hand from the depths of his robes and grinning sheepishly.  
“Do you remember Selphie the augurey? Well… she found me not so long ago when I was wandering down by the lake. She let me pluck a feather… she was moulting… so I made this…”   
He opens his hand to reveal a delicate bronze hair slide, intricate and curling like a Celtic knot. An augurey plumage feather is magicked to it, just large enough to sit in the side of her hair beside her ear. Her eyes widen in delight, and she attempts to conceal her squeal of joy.   
“Oh Newt, it’s beautiful! Is it really Selphie’s? How can you be sure? Oh of course you can, you’re such a strange little thing! Here, put it in my hair!”   
Leta sweeps her cascade of hair over her right shoulder, and turns, so Newt can see where she has drawn it back from her face and clasped it with a hair tie. He lifts the feather barette and slides it in to cover this tie, so it looks like the emerald feather and shining clasp are holding her hair back. She turns back round to him and beams her brilliant toothy smile.   
“Thank you very much Newt,” she says, her eyes reverent and he can’t look at her for a moment longer, the proximity of their bodies making his heart race alarmingly.   
He coughs, embarrassed and shakes off her compliment. He bites his lip before finally gaining the courage to blurt out the words resting on his lips.  
“Leta, I have something to show you. Tonight. If you could meet me just beyond the path leading down to the groundskeeper’s cottage, in the thicket of bushes on the right, I think – I mean – you would –“  
Leta giggles and presses a finger to his lips, earning a small noise of surprise from the babbling boy and a glance in her direction.   
“Hush Newt, don’t panic yourself. Alright, you’re on. 8 o’clock, exactly where you said – I can’t wait to see what you’ve got for me.”  
With that, Leta pulls away from him and flounces off down the hall away from him, humming some strange tune and patting her hair where her new feather sat. Newt was left to wander his way back to the Hufflepuff common room, his step a little lighter and his heart swelling up in excitement.

-

8 o’clock comes and goes, the sun sets upon the castle grounds, and as the moon moves through the sky Newt knows Leta is not coming.   
She often does this. Forgets about him, or simply gets caught up doing something else. She’s very forgetful, her mind is always going a mile a minute. Still he had planned something special for her, and his heart feels as though it has sunk to his stomach in disappointment.   
The stars light the path back to the castle, where he will undoubtedly be caught for being out too late and chastised. Leta never seems to be there when they sneak back into the castle – she has a strange way of fading into the shadows, allowing him to be dragged off by the scruff of the neck.   
Still the shine of her smile and dark eyes from those very shadows are enough to make him slack jawed, and remind him how much he cherishes his only friend.   
As he moves to returns to the castle, he hears laughter. An unmistakable laugh.   
It filters through the air, and Newt’s eyes meet Leta’s dead on amidst a cluster of Slytherins, rushing back to the castle in a flurry of robes and giggles. As her eyes land on him, so do the eyes of her fellow classmates, and a large boy beside her immediately sneers.   
“It’s that little freak, Scamander!”   
Newt pales and attempts to shrink back to the thicket of hedges he was waiting for Leta in, but the large boy takes a step towards him. As he does a smaller, more pointed young man on the other side of Leta curls his lip in a sneer.   
“Where are you going you little freak? Off to play with your poison pets? I wonder what he gets up to out here in the dark with them?!”   
The Slytherins laugh, all brittle and cruel, and Newt’s stomach twists, a sick taste rising to his tongue as he sees Leta is laughing too.   
Deciding he would rather be remembered as a coward who ran to protect himself, than a hero who allowed himself to be beaten half to death for no reason, he dives back into the thicket, rolling away and crouching down low so they can’t see him. He raises his wand and mutters, pulling the foliage in closer around him, obscuring his form from their view. He hears them jeering and calling out for him, but he shuts his eyes and wraps his arms around his folded knees, biting his lip and refusing to cry.  
He won’t cry anymore, not because of their taunts or their horrible names, not because of their beatings, not because of how they make him feel worthless, because he has his creatures and –   
“Newt?”   
His eyes shoot open and he can see the shiny patent leather shoes of Leta Lestrange. He remains crouched, just in case she’s not alone. Her shoes walk away for a moment and he hears her voice again.   
“Oh come on Newt, they’re not here anymore. They’ve gone inside, like we should. I won’t stand here all night!”   
At that moment he feels the sweep of a spell and Leta uncovers him folded into the undergrowth. He doesn’t look up to her face, instead straightens and dusts himself down. He feels rare anger bubble up in his throat, making his skin prickle and his cheeks flush with red blotches. He goes to walk away from her, but she catches his hand.   
He wrenches it away from her.   
Leta half laughs and stands back.   
“Oh come on Newt, don’t be like that. I’m sorry, I forgot we were supposed to meet – the others just wanted to celebrate my birthday, and I went along with it. I hope you’re not angry with me.”   
Newt turns to her, still refusing to meet those large dark eyes, venom filling his mouth with poison words he should spit at her. He should tell her she’s awful, storm back to the castle, refuse to speak to her until she’s properly apologised –  
Instead, he feels her hand slip into his own, and he cannot help himself but sneak a glance at those wholesome, deep eyes.   
Her smile is soft and gentle, and Newt can feel his anger slipping away as the seconds pass.   
“What did you want to show me?” she asks gently, her voice barely carrying through the darkness. Newt gulps and draws his wand from his robes, eyes still somehow dancing over her face and hairline. He raises his wand into the air and shoots glittering golden sparks into the air. As they fall to the earth, and across the leaves of the thicket tiny lights begin to lift from the foliage and rise into the air, illuminating their clearing in a soft, ethereal light.   
Newt has to look away from Leta as she lights up too.   
“Fairies…”   
Her voice is breathless, and she is gazing up at the sky in wonderment as the tiny creatures dance through the air, lighter than it, lifting her hair about her shoulders and making her giggle in delight. Newt chances a look as he knows she is lost in the creatures surrounding her. The last semblance of anger towards her melts away as she looks down from the sky and straight at him.   
Before he knows what she’s doing, she has closed the distance between them, so he can count the eyelashes which cast gentle shadows on her cheeks.   
“This is the best birthday present I’ve ever been given little badger,” she murmurs, before she leans forward and presses her full lips to his own.   
Newt is unsure how long they kiss, but when she pulls away his body feels weightless and his head is so light he thinks the fairies may have bewitched him just like the muggles claim they can. He barely feels his legs move as Leta leads him back through the cover of darkness to the castle, and through the shadows of the expansive corridors.   
He doesn’t even realise when she disappears from his side, into the darkness of the dungeons and he is met by Professor Dumbledore’s accusatory look and immediate removal of 20 points from Hufflepuff.   
He still feels the burn of Leta’s lips as he closes his eyes to finally surrender to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - please let me know what you think - I adore fellow Newt fanatics.


	4. Chapter 4

She holds his hands, sometimes, when they go to the Shrieking Shack. On the rare weekends they are permitted to venture to Hogsmeade, the pair often escape to the Shack, where if one is lucky enough, kneazles can be found making burrows along the perimeter. She will slip her soft hand into his own as they trudge down through the village to the outskirts, when there is no one around. She always waits until there is no one else around, preserving their privacy Newt is sure, and he is glad for it sometimes.   
Other times, he wishes Leta would play out her affections when they are around others, so he can be sure that is how she really feels.   
He often chastises himself when he thinks like this – why would she spend time with him, if she didn’t really like him?  
“Newt, you’re thinking so loud I can practically hear your thoughts,” Leta’s voice holds a giggle within it, and she glances to look at him as they walk. Her fingers squeeze lightly on his palm and he blushes furiously, nuzzling closer to his Hufflepuff scarf against the cold. It has been snowing. Before he can even put up a pretence of answering, Leta has begun talking again, never letting a moment pass without speaking her mind. “Wouldn’t it be fascinating to a Legilimens? Although, it might be quite embarrassing to hear what you think when you look at me.”  
Newt’s cheeks take on a new shade of purple and he begins to stammer out a response to her, but she is already laughing, her mahogany dark cheeks red from the cold.   
“Relax, Newt. I’m just teasing.”  
Newt wants to tell her what he is thinking – what he always thinks when he’s around her. That she is mind-numbingly beautiful, and that her laughter is like music and that her fierce temper and fiery sense of humour makes it seem like the light from the sun bends around her, making her glow. He doesn’t though, as he knows he sounds like a sappy child who has caught a glimpse of Witch Weekly on his mother’s coffee table. Leta deserves someone who is strong and confident and can make her lots of money so she never has to lift a finger as long as she lives.   
Leta would like that, to not have to work and be kept.   
Newt couldn’t think of anything more maddening than sitting around doing nothing all day.   
They reach the Shrieking Shack at last, legs tired and breaths caught in their throats from the cold, and Newt leads Leta to a boulder where she sits and pulls her green and silver Slytherin scarf from her chin. Newt stretches and takes in his surroundings, the woods not far from where he stands buzzing with the distinct blur of billywigs. He moves to have a look while Leta gathers her breath, spotting one not that high in the canopy of the trees, and he begins making a soft clicking sound he has read about – supposed to lure them closer. As he clicks the billywig makes no move towards him and he frowns, wondering if he is doing it wrong. He begins to make a variety of soft hissing and clicking sounds, hoping to coax the tiny animal towards him so he might catch it and inspect its sting.   
He hears Leta giggle from her perch and he grins, glancing over his shoulder at her briefly. His confidence soars as it so often does when in the presence of a magical beast.   
“To anyone else, you would seem absolutely mad right now,” she says, speaking loudly so her voice carries to him through the wind. Newt shrugs and turns from the billywig for a moment to address her.   
“Isn’t that what they all say anyway?”  
She doesn’t answer, just regards him sadly for a moment, forcing him to look away. He hates it when she looks on him with those pitying eyes. Like he is a wounded kitten, desperate for her care and affection. He looks back, and the billywig has buzzed away. Newt sighs and looks around in the trees for another to coax, when he feels the cold pelt of snow on the back of his head.   
He whips around to see Leta standing, clutching another ball of snow in her leather gloved hand. Her smile is wild, just like her thick ringlets of hair, pulled back in a high ponytail to stay out of her way. She pelts the snowball at him, but he dodges, and ducks to the ground, picking up his own mound of snow. Leta raises a brow and eyes him warningly, although her maddening smile betrays her.  
“Don’t you dare, Newt Scamander – “  
She can’t finish her sentence, as his snowball hits her hard on the nose. He cringes slightly, but soon begins to laugh again when she reaches up a furious hand and wipes it off her face, her laughter mock outraged.   
“Oh you’re going to pay for that one,” she says, drawing her wand and aiming it at the snow, rolling mounds of it up and flicking her wrist so they pelt Newt. He shields his face and pulls out his own wand to the same, but Leta has grabbed a hand full of snow and is running towards him as fast as she can, aiming to shove it down the front of his blue sweater. He grabs her by the wrists and holds them up before his face, and she laughs louder, her eyes sparkling with mirth and delight, attempting to twist from his grip. Although he is thin, Newt is a good head taller than she is at this point and stronger too, so he easily wrestles with her enough that she drops the snow from her hands and he stops them both tugging to catch their breath. He still holds onto her wrists as she half laughs, half gulps in oxygen, attempting to regain her composure. He is laughing too, his face relaxed and easy, no sense of the incredible tension he so often carries around in his shoulders.   
Newt takes a moment to view Leta silhouetted against the stark whiteness of the snow, her magnificent dark skin and hair a fantastic contrast to the bleakness of the grey countryside. Winter has laid waste to the area around the Shrieking Shake, and Leta brings vibrance and energy and light.   
He realises he has been staring at her at the same moment he realises Leta has been staring at him. Her eyes are clouded with something he cannot interpret, and her brows are drawn together as if in confusion. He lets his grip on her wrists loosen, but still her holds her there before him. Her full lips part for a moment, and then close.   
Newt has never seen Leta hesitate to do anything, let alone speak.   
The wind whistles in his ears, and he watches intently as she goes to speak again.   
“I think I’ve fallen in love with you, little badger.”   
She says it quite plainly, as though it is the most obvious thing in the world. Newt drops her wrists, his gut churning in confusion and he takes a step back from her. Nonplussed, Leta closes the distance between them once again with a sure step forward. Newt swallows.  
He is certain he is going to be sick.  
Leta Lestrange couldn’t possibly love him. He was the skinny, unsure, less intelligent, less powerful counterpart of his brother. He was odd, he hated people, he shied away from interacting with anyone but magical creatures. He was repeatedly beaten up, ridiculed, laughed at – Leta Lestrange was none of those things. She was his polar opposite, somewhere far away he could never hope to reach.  
Leta lifts her hand to his cheek bone and lightly caresses it. She watches for his panicked reaction, before raising her other hand to his opposite cheek and cupping his face in her hands. She smiles, slow and full and radiant, and his heart flutters in his chest.  
Could she love him? Truly?  
“You’re thinking too loud again Newt,” she says softly, standing on her tiptoes and going to press a gentle kiss to his lips.   
She has kissed him before – spontaneously usually, when she is happy or sad or angry. She has never kissed him like this before – with tender passion and a quietness that makes his heart hammer so hard in his chest he can hear the blood screaming in his ears. He can’t say the words back, even though she makes up everything good in his life except for his creatures.   
He just can’t.   
Leta pulls away and watches him carefully, looking for any betrayal of his thoughts. Newt swallows and does the only thing he can think to do, the only thing that could possibly give her a semblance of an answer. He reaches up, running a finger along her jawline, eyes trained on the smoothness of her dark skin. He sighs and gazes at her, and she smiles gently back at him. Moments like this with Leta, quiet and still, never happen.   
She leans forward and wraps her arms around his middle, hugging him tightly for a minute. When she steps back she gazes up at him.   
“But you know I’ll probably have to marry one of the Sacred 28,” she reasons, pouting her lips in thought. Her eyes light up for a moment. “Its rather rebellious that I should have any feelings towards the lesser of the Scamander brothers – what shame I will bring about my family!”   
She raises her hand to her forehead, feigning horror and giggling wildy.   
“Oh how exciting! Mother would hate it, my being with a nobody half-blood who wanted to run around the world looking for magical creatures! She’d probably slap me right in the face if she saw us now! Can you imagine the scandal, Newt?”  
Newt is watching her warily, wondering if she even hears half of the things she has just said about him.  
Are they horrible things to say if there is no horrible intent behind them? Or does it matter if the person being horrible doesn’t know they are being so?   
Leta doesn’t seem to care one way or the other. She is still talking to herself, spinning some elaborate tale which he is only half listening to. The other half of him wonders if he truly is simply a ‘nobody half-blood’? If that is the case, why is Leta with him at all? Why she spend time with him? Does she truly like him, or is this another of her schemes for attention? Perhaps he gives her too much?  
His mind is reeling and he doesn’t even notice when Leta sidles up beside him and leans up to peck him on his rosy cheek. He immediately loses his train of thought and gives her a half smile as she watches him mischievously. She grabs one end of his scarf and gives it a soft tug towards the woods.   
“Come on then, show me what you were clicking at, you strange little creature.”  
Newt doesn’t think any more on the reasons for why Leta behaves the way she does. He simply allows her to pull him around the trees, gazing to the canopy whistling for billywigs and asking nonsensical questions about Fizzing Whizzbees.   
She is one beast he will never understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must thank all of my reviewers - I love reading your reviewers and thoughts. Please, keep them coming. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing this (although I love every minute of writing this, so I'm unsure as to whether thats possible!) Thanks again~


	5. Chapter 5

The clock strikes 9, and Newt looks up from the lines he has been writing.   
I must not steal chizpurfle carapaces from the potions storeroom.   
Detention has been long – it seems he has been writing the same line for weeks on end, and he cracks his knuckles one by one as he stretches out, preparing to leave the stoic office of Professor Dumbledore. The man seems to be overly keen on discovering Newt’s every move lately – he has been asking a lot of questions, about creatures and Newt’s dealings with them. Newt furrows his brow in thought – he will have to be more careful in the future. With a lot of things.   
He slings his bag over his shoulder and stands, watching Dumbledore for an opportunity to say his final apologies and goodbyes. Instead, the rusty haired man dips his peacock feather quill back into his ink well, intertwines his long fingers before his face and meets Newt’s eyes over reading spectacles. Newt gulps and immediately avoids his view.   
He doesn’t much mind Professor Dumbledore – he seems like a good teacher, a decent person – however, there is something off about him, like much he does is for his own gain and to keep up a good pretence… Newt gets a whiff of uncertainty off the man, however, he doesn’t trust his judgement on humans as well as he does his judgement on his creatures. Usually, he is slightly off about the people.   
“Mr Scamander,” Dumbledore’s voice is low and unthreatening, as if he simply wants to chat to Newt rather than further admonish him. “I am facing a dilemma.”   
“A dilemma… sir?” Newt’s voice is soft and unsure as it always is when conversing with humans. Dumbledore eyes him for a moment and then nods his head thoughtfully.   
“Yes, a dilemma. For you see, Mr Scamander I happened to inquire as to what N.E.W.T subjects you have chosen to pursue this year. Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration of course, Astronomy and… Defence Against the Dark Arts, was it? Yes, it was. Therefore, my dilemma is this; why, would a young man who isn’t studying anything relating remotely to potion-making, steal a potion ingredient for the antidote to Uncommon Poisons? A draught learned in N.E.W.T level potions classes?”   
Newt gulps.  
His mind is swirling in fear and confusion and an utter inability to lie. He opens his mouth to speak, once, twice and ends up just looking like a fish, gasping for air. He closes his mouth and hangs his head, not bearing to look anywhere near Dumbledore for a moment more. Newt hears the squeal of his chair, and feels a hand land on his shoulder. Newt cringes in hatred of physical contact, but clenches his teeth and allows Dumbledore this moment.  
The man seems to sense his discomfort, and removes his hand, but clears his throat to draw Newt’s eyes back to his face. Strangely, Dumbledore looks pitying, like he knows the answer to his dilemma and knows Newt does too. He frowns with a definite sigh.   
“Mr Scamander. I am of the belief that you are a fantastic wizard. That you excel in Care of Magical Creatures, and that you could well work with dragons or indeed teach here at Hogwarts in the future. I would ask you to question very carefully the next time you are coerced into helping a certain individual with their failed homework assignments – what is it you truly want from your time at Hogwarts. Where do your true loyalties lie?”  
Newt nods his head and Dumbledore hums softly, as though he doesn’t believe Newt has taken in what he has just said. He jerks his chin towards the door and Newt takes the opportunity to scramble away. As he reaches the door frame, he stops to the sound of Dumbledore’s voice once again.   
“And consult any History of Magic notes you may have kept from your O.W.Ls, Mr Scamander. Lestrange is not a name often associated with loyalty. Not to one such as you, or I at least.”   
Newt leaves the room without another word.

-

He has almost reached his dormitory when he feels a hand clutch his shoulder and he shrugs it off sharply, spinning round, wand raised to defend himself.   
Leta is watching him with wide eyes, and a slight smirk on her face.   
Newt frowns and shakes his head sadly.   
“Not tonight Leta,” he says, his voice tired and empty and he moves to walk away from her. Leta laughs outwardly then, and skips round to his side, her hair twisted up in a knot at the back of her head, held in place with her augurey feather clip.   
“Oh come on Newt, there’s something important I have to show you, it can’t wait –“  
“Can’t it?” he asks softly, his shoulders slumped. “Just like those Slytherin prefects couldn’t wait to go and collect their potions marks from the supply room after hours?”   
Leta raises a carefully plucked brow, her lips quirking into an unpleasant smile.   
“I’m certain I don’t know what your implying Newt,” she says, her voice low and dangerous. He sighs. He hates when she won’t just admit to him the truth – she should know by now he can’t help but forgive her anyway.   
“I’m not implying anything Leta – I just recall seeing you with them a few hours before it all happened.”   
Leta snorts, blocking his way now, her stance threatening, that wild look in her eye that he despises. She reminds him of a wounded jarvey he found in the pumpkin patches behind the groundskeeper’s house last winter. Snapping and biting viciously, eyes wild with anger because it didn’t know how else to protect itself.   
“You think I told them? Why on earth would I do that? I needed the carapaces in the first place!” She juts out her bottom lip in apparent hurt, and Newt feels his tired resolve waiver. She is right – why on earth would the very person who had requested he steal the chizpurfle carapaces, because she hadn’t gone to Hogsmeade as instructed and collected some for potions, rat him out? It made no sense. He was just tired, and Dumbledore had been horrible about Leta’s family, so he was annoyed.  
“Newt? Are you listening?”  
Leta waves her hand before his eyes, and his furious internal monologue stops blaring. He blushes deeply and hastily looks away from her, her snubbed little nose just inches from his.   
“Sorry, Leta. I’m just – I just – “  
“I know little badger,” she says the words softly, before reaching out and running her finger along his cheekbone. He shivers and she elicits a small smile from him. Satisfied that she has his attention once again, her eyes regain that mischievous sparkle and she grabs his hand.  
“Now come on! There’s something you have to see, right this instant!”  
He doesn’t even think as he allows her to drag him away, and out their secret doorway to the grounds near the kitchens and his own dormitory.   
-  
She tugs him down the hill towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest and before he knows it, she has dragged him a good 20 metres in, before he stops and questions her.   
“Leta, where are we going? We’re further in than normal.”  
She doesn’t look back, but rather powers ahead, glancing around her.   
“Nearly there, promise!”   
Newt opens his mouth to protest, before they reach a small clearing and Leta stands back and makes a grand flourish. Newt’s jaw drops and his eyes widen to saucers.  
He is certain not even Leta’s shining beauty can match that of the hippogriff that lies before him.   
The creature is sitting down, legs folded beneath it. Its head is bowed, one of its large wings folded and tucked gracefully into its side. The other, is mangled and bloody, bent at a strange angle from its body, just enough to arise concern from Newt. He immediately drops his bag and hurries forward, stopping a few metres short of the beast so it opens its wide amber eyes and observes him. He bows, lowly so his nose is almost touching the forest floor, filled with admiration and respect for the creature. He glances up to see the great beast bow its own majestic head in response, and with that Newt dashes forwards and skids to a halt before it, rolling his sleeves up.  
“Oh my beauty, what’s happened to you?”  
His voice is low and soft, a rumble in the darkness of the forest, and the hippogriff grunts uncomfortably. Newt reaches out a tentative hand to pet the grand feathers of its neck, before reaching his hand out cautiously towards the hippogriff’s broken wing. He meets the hippogriff’s eyes, before bowing his head again as if to ask permission to examine it. He doesn’t expect the bird to bow again, but it does, and his heart nearly bursts from his chest in pride and delight, as he lays a delicate hand on the definite bend. He continues to do this for a few moments, before he remembers Leta is watching, at the edge of the clearing. He stands and goes to his bag, grinning in her direction as he does.   
“I think it’s just a funny sprain, not broken. I’ll have to set it gently tonight to try and ease the pain, and I should be able to whip something up to combat any infection, but I think the most important thing I can do for him is food and water. They’re very good at looking after themselves.” He has opened his bag and pulled out a haphazard string of gauze he always keeps handy for emergencies – namely when he is cornered by seventh year Gryffindors and punched in the face – and begins to unravel it to bind the hippogriff’s wing.   
Leta nods her head in understanding and grins.   
“Isn’t it gorgeous though Newt? I was immediately taken with it. Here, I’ll help with that –“   
she steps forward, but the bird grumbles angrily and Newt lifts a hand to her.  
“You have to bow, Leta,” he says seriously. She raises a brow and laughs.  
“What? Bowing to a beast seems extravagant,” she says, a hint of condescension in her tone and Newt frowns.   
“I thought you knew about bowing to a hippogriff. It’s always been the way, they’re very proud.”   
Leta shoves her chin up in distaste before turning to the creature and bowing, a shallow, unfulfilling bow.   
The hippogriff eyes her with malice in its amber eyes and makes no move to bow back.  
Newt pales and instantly waves a hand at her to make her step back.  
“Back Leta, back away! That was a distinct ‘no’,” he says hurriedly.   
“A ‘no’? What do you mean? If it wasn’t for me, this beast would be dying, no chance of survival!” she says indignantly, her eyes flashing with the fierce rage he knows she is capable of. He swallows a lump in his throat and can’t bring himself to tell her that hippogriffs don’t judge individuals on immediate actions, rather their entire persona.   
“Just back away Leta, I don’t want you to get hurt,” Newt pleads with her, stepping over to the hippogriff and beginning to bind its wing.   
Leta huffs, her shoulders squared and her eyes flaming.   
“How dare you tell me what to do, Newt Scamander? The beast is clearly beyond help if it can’t even recognise that I wanted to help it. We should just put it out of its misery and be done with it,” she says, her voice dripping venom and Newt’s heart clenches.  
Her mood swings are so volatile these days – one moment she is his shiny Leta, the next she is this snapping gorgon and he doesn’t know what has changed since they met that day in the rain to make her moods come and go so quickly.   
It makes him feel even worse when he considers the notion that perhaps, she has always been this way.  
Newt finally registers what she has just said, although he doesn’t fully understand her implication until he sees her raise her wand and aim it at the hippogriff. Immediately, he lunges before the creature, eyes wide and heart hammering.  
“Leta, what in Merlin’s name are you doing? Put your wand down now,” he implores, his breaths sharp and quick, his words unsteady. His whole body is shaking and his blood runs cold when he sees the steadiness of her hand as she aims it at him.   
“Move Newt. I’m going to end its suffering.”  
“He’s not suffering -! He’s going to be fine, there’s no reason to destroy him! Stop it, Leta, please!”  
He hates how whiny his voice is, how he is always the one to beg her forgiveness, to beg her mercy and he can’t help himself as she takes a step forwards, wand never flinching.  
He draws his own wand and points it at her, gaze steady.   
“Put your wand away, Leta. Put it away and stop this, now.”  
His voice is trembling as his hand does and he watches Leta’s dark eyes focus on his wand, and then move to his face. She lowers her own, those dark eyes distant and cold, like black holes – so empty. He’s never seen them like this. The light beneath her skin has seemed to go out.   
“You dare aim your wand at me?”  
Her voice is shaking now too, but not from fear and sickening despair like Newt’s is. It is shaking from rage.   
Newt shoves his wand back into his robes, and extends his hand to Leta, taking a step towards her. She jerks back, like his touch will poison her, like he is diseased and one touch will infect her forever.   
“Leta… Leta, I’m sorry.”  
He hates that he is apologising to her. She was the one to start this, to aim her wand at that innocent creature – she was mad to think he wouldn’t intervene.   
Leta smiles then, a small, dark, sad smile.   
She shakes her head, and turns from the clearing. Before she leaves, he hears her words carry to him in the cool night air, and he feels his blood go cold, the perspiration on his forehead turning frigid.  
“So am I, little badger.”


	6. Chapter 6

He hears her screams long before he even leaves the pathway towards their part of the forest.  
Before he knows what he’s doing, Newt has dropped his schoolbag, throwing down his cloak, and is sprinting down the bluff, towards the cry of Leta, his heart pounding and his eyes beginning to well up with tears.  
They haven’t spoken since she showed him the hippogriff, at least two weeks ago – he has searched for her in all of their most likely haunts, small alcoves in the castle that only they knew about, the space behind the greenhouses, the path along the lake towards the boathouse – it was like she had dissipated from his life without another word and it made him feel sick to his stomach. He felt sick that he had raised his wand to her – he felt sicker because he knew that it was the right thing to do. Still, his heart hurt. It felt like it was made of lead, resting in the pit of his stomach, unmoving. He felt nothing for those two weeks – every offhanded jibe about how strange he was passed right over him. He felt immovable and empty, like a stone. The only thing that brought him joy, was the hippogriff, wing slowly repairing. He would be strong enough to fly on his own soon, maybe a day or two, and then he would leave.  
Then, perhaps, Newt would be all on his own, for the first time since third year when he saw her first.  
As he runs towards her panicked screams, his mouth dry as bone, his eyes watering against the ferocity of the wind, he remembers a gentler time when he saw only the dark and enchanting beauty of Leta’s eyes and skin. The twinkle from her emerald earrings and the shiny quality that her smile held. With age came a knowledge of what lay behind these beautiful features.  
Finally, he reaches the clearing where the hippogriff should be.  
No hippogriff.  
Only Leta, lying on the forest floor, paler than he has ever seen her, eyes rolling to the back of her head.  
“Leta!”  
He runs to her side, scooping her up so her heavy head of dark hair is supported in the bend of his elbow. Her eyes roll a bit and Newt glances down at his hands to see them glistening with ruby red blood. His hand begins to shake at the sight of it, as he takes in the large slice that runs from her shoulder down across her fragile collarbone. She coughs, and leans her head into his jumper, inhaling deeply.  
“Is that you, little badger?  
“It’s me,” he gasps, leaning down without thinking and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s me, Leta. What happened to you?”  
She coughs again, her breathing ragged.  
“I came – t-to apologise to you. When I entered the clearing the- the- hippogriff attacked me. It flew – it f-flew away…”  
Her words are barely discernible from the whistling of the wind around them and Newt gulps down hard, trying to think of some solution to this problem.  
He can’t save her himself – he doesn’t know any spell remotely able to close up a wound so large and deep. But if he takes her to the school, they will ask how badly she was injured and he won’t be able to lie, they’ll see right through him. They’ll know he was keeping a hippogriff in the Forbidden Forest.  
Newt’s head is light and airy – he’s been in his fair share of scrapes before, but this one leads to no other course of action than one drastic one.  
Leta coughs more violently now, sputtering blood.  
His decision is made.  
Unable to apparate on Hogwarts grounds, Newt stands, picking Leta up as delicately as he can. She is dead weight, but he has been lifting and tackling all sorts of creatures since he volunteered to help with younger classes and Care of Magical Creatures so he surprises himself as he begins the trek towards the castle, and towards what he knows will not end well for him.

-

The door closes with a soft click and Newt doesn’t look up from the table until Dumbledore sits down in the chair opposite him. The teacher sighs deeply, interlocking his fingers and allowing a few minutes of silence to pass before exhaling deeply.  
“They have to expel you, Mr Scamander.”  
Newt raises his brows as if in surprise – he is not surprised. His heart is still that lump of lead, rotting in his groin and he knew what was coming. Any fool knows it is beyond acceptable for a student to sneak off to the Forbidden Forest to look after a beast known to be dangerous to those who do not respect it correctly – but Newt may have escaped the ultimate penalty for that transgression. But a student had been hurt. Irreversibly, perhaps. And it was essentially his fault.  
“I tried my best to reason with them – but Miss Lestrange’s parents are – well,” Dumbledore smiles wryly. “It is impossible to reason with the unreasonable. And Headmaster Dippet has only just been appointed. He doesn’t want a powerful family such as the Lestranges recommending to the Minister for Magic that he is incapable of the job. You understand.”  
It’s not a question. Dumbledore knows Newt understands, he’s just speaking to fill the air. Newt nods lightly, his chin still resting his clasped hands on the table, his eyes watery with tears that won’t come. He feels so empty, so defeated.  
What will his parents say? How will he ever move on from this? He was already cast in the shadow of Theseus’ greatness – now he was to be eternally known as the miscreant brother, expelled from Hogwarts for endangering the life of a student. He raises his eyes in attention when Dumbledore begins to speak at last.  
“… difficult individuals, however I have asked that you be spared your wand being snapped. You and Miss Lestrange were great friends, therefore she would not want it, I reasoned. Professor Dippet agreed that expulsion was punishment enough – and that the war effort in the coming future may still require a young man with skills in care of magical creatures. Be grateful,” he finishes, eyeing Newt carefully down his long crooked nose.  
Newt nods again, empty and broken. He knows he should be pleased they aren’t taking his wand. However, Leta is still asleep, having passed out before they reached the castle. He wants to assure she is alright, before anything else happens.  
Dumbledore sits back in his chair and regards Newt carefully.  
“Miss Lestrange’s parents have now left the castle.”  
Newt looks at him properly now, confusion painted on his face. Left the castle? Already? It’s as though they didn’t give a damn about Leta, they just wanted to ensure his punishment was severe enough and then retire back to their mansion.  
Dumbledore seems to read his mind and nods his head slowly in thought. He looks at Newt and quirks a brow.  
“Would you like to see her?”  
-

The hospital wing is silent, unmoving. There is no one in it, the beds devoid of any patients except for the last one on the right, shielded by thin white curtains. He can see her silhouette through it, her chest rising and falling in deep breaths.  
Dumbledore sweeps the curtain back and nods for Newt to go through, remaining, to Newt’s surprise outside. Newt crosses to Leta’s bedside, and sits. He lifts his hand towards her own, and doesn’t take hold of it immediately, rather ghosts his fingers along her palms and fingertips, finishing his journey at her well-polished finger nails. Her face is peaceful and full, the glow returning to her skin as she rests, her long lashes resting on her rosy cheekbones. He watches the freckles on her nose, recounting them as he has so many times before when she’s not looking. He smiles as he gazes upon her, before his eyes fall on the thick gauze that runs across her shoulder. He winces, before tentatively reaching up to the corner of the gauze. He cannot help his curiosity, before he peels it back ever so slightly at the edge. Leta doesn’t stir, the sleeping draught she had been given too powerful for his light touch to reach her.  
His eyes flicker from checking her sleeping face, back to the tip of the wound.  
And it is as if the lump that is his heart crumbles altogether.  
As if he could sense the change in atmosphere, Dumbledore sweeps through the curtain then, and sees Newt at the edge of the bandage, gazing at the wound. Newt doesn’t move his hands as he finds Dumbledore come straight to his side, and look over his shoulder at the wound also. He makes a small humming noise that makes Newt feel sick to his stomach.  
“Very interesting.”  
Newt doesn’t speak, because he cannot. All words have failed him, his lips too dry, his tongue heavy and useless. Dumbledore’s long fingers reach down and take the place of Newt’s now slack ones, toying with the edge of the bandage, before laying it back down atop Leta’s shoulder. Dumbledore draws a deep breath before speaking again.  
“I’m no expert – I certainly don’t know as much about magical creatures as the likes of you do, Mr Scamander. I have to say that I admire your abilities at caring for them, earning their trust and creating a bond with them, whilst still maintaining their sense of wild freedom so they can live and support themselves eventually. I also admire your dedication to studying the cuts and bruises and other such maladies they have granted you with, as well as others – and finding cures and treatments for them. I must say, I believe in your abilities quite profusely.”  
He pauses again, and Newt looks to him now, the tears flowing freely from his eyes as Dumbledore stares back with such pity that Newt wants to run away from this place and never look back as long as he lives.  
“In your well-versed opinion, Mr Scamander – does that look like a wound inflicted by an enraged hippogriff?”  
Newt stares dumbly back at him, before Dumbledore takes him by the elbow and lifts him from his seat by her bed. Newt barely notices as the man leads him from the hospital wing, through the silent castle and to the entrance to his dorms. He taps the barrels in the familiar rhythm and leads Newt through the common room to his dorms, and holds his shoulder firmly before nodding towards the door.  
“Some rest, Mr Scamander. I will send someone to fetch you and your things in the morning.”  
Newt’s legs carry his numb body to bed, and he stares at the roof for what feels like an eternity before rolling over onto his side, throwing his feet from his bed and going to the bathroom at the end of the hall.  
It is here that he falls to his knees, throws up what feels like the entirely contents of everything he has ever consumed and sits, on the cold yellow tiles, his head resting against the wall until the physical numbness of his feet matches the numbness of his emotions.  
Only then does he return to bed, and sleep.

-

He is sombrely looked upon by the headmaster and head of house before being sent on his merry way. He isn’t allowed to see Leta again before he leaves, but for this he is somewhat relieved.  
He has no words to give her. He plans to leave England, go to the Ukraine to train the Ironbellies, gain their trust and perhaps put them to good use in the ensuing war. After that who knows?  
He feels an almost weightless feeling. Like he has been freed from Hogwarts and its many prejudices and expectations, from his family and their constant comparisons – and from Leta. Like her grasp on him has loosened, if only by a bit. His heart still seizes up at the thought of her. Of everything she was. Of everything she could have been.  
It is not until he reaches Ukraine, that he hears anything of her. In a letter, no less, short and to the point and so painfully Leta that he doesn’t know whether to read it or throw it in the campfire.  
He decides, he must know and so before he can talk himself out of it, he opens the letter. Inside, there is a picture of her, her smooth shoulders and glowing smile – her thick hair is swept to the side like on the day he met her, and he sees the hint of an augurey feather resting at the back of her head. He pockets it, and continues on to read:

_My dearest Newt,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. It was strange to graduate without you at my side. When the summer is over, I am to begin living the life of the socialite. My parents have high hopes for me; I should eventually marry someone in the ministry, and live a comfortable life._   
_I doubt your life is comfortable at the moment. I console myself with that thought – that I couldn’t have come with you on your adventures, because I’m simply not cut out for it. Not bred for it, is probably more accurate. I am certain you are enjoying yourself though – I hope you are._   
_I never meant for what happened to happen. If I had known the beast would react in such a way, I never would have ventured there alone. I feel somewhat to blame for your expulsion. I hope you don’t blame me too much though – you always were toeing the line between eccentric and downright troublesome._   
_I think that’s why I love you. I do love you, Newt. It is the purest thing I have ever felt. I’m sorry if I don’t know quite how to express it. You will just have to take my word for it._   
_Next time you’re in London, visit me. I’ll know if you won’t._   
_Take care, little badger._

_Your loving,_

_Leta_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please stay turned for the next update~


	7. Chapter 7

He is exhausted.   
He sits, clutching a teacup, a copy of the Daily Prophet propped up on the teapot that sits upon his table. He is in the smallest corner of the Leaky Cauldron, the noisy pub beginning to quiet as the night wears on. He takes a gulp of his tea, wincing as the hot liquid burns his tongue. He blows on it absently, before setting it down once more, and shaking out the paper in his hands so it is flatter and easier to read.   
He has been travelling home since last week. After his stint in the Ukraine with the Ironbellies and participating on the Eastern Front providing fire power, he had begun his real travels across Europe, and eventually down to the massive continent of Africa. It was there that he did most of his work, securing endangered and abused magical creatures, and sheltering them from the cruelness of this world inside his suitcase. In Rwanda he had found his erumpent, his sweet Penny – it was Sierra Leone where he had been following the whisperings and rumours and tracked down the last breeding pair of graphorns in existence; calving presently, much to his delight - and in Egypt, he had rescued his beloved Frank from the monstrous poachers who had imprisoned him to guard their treasure. Newt recalls watching their faces drop when he hexed their feet on backwards – normally, he wouldn’t have resorted to quite such a terrible punishment, but Frank had been in a bad way. He had finally stopped in Equatorial Guinea to rescue a clutch of occamy eggs that were instants away from being melted down into a necklace by an unsuspecting muggle. A quick Memory Charm, and he had caught the boat from Cape Town not long after, beginning the long journey back to London.   
The suitcase rattles slightly at his feet.   
He smiles softly and nudges it gently with his toe, calming whoever it was making a fuss in there.   
He glances at his watch.  
He may as well ask for a room at this rate – he had planned to go home and visit his mother, but for some reason, he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave the pub and venture back to his family home, filled with judging looks and discontent with his entire lifestyle.   
No, a room, a good night’s sleep, and then another boat to catch in the morning.   
As Newt folds up his newspaper, and throws it down on the table, his eyes catch another fervent pair, watching him from the other side of the bar.   
He swallows in disbelief, and finds himself sitting back down.   
The pair of dark eyes blink twice and before he knows it, their owner is walking slowly over to his table, chest rising and falling almost hypnotically. She sits before him, long, thick curls strewn across her back, held back haphazardly from her eyes with a vivid emerald feather clasp.   
Leta Lestrange raises a brow in disbelief.   
“I told you I would know if you didn’t come visit me.”  
Newt is lost for words for a moment, shifting uncomfortably in his chair under her serious gaze. He glances up at her quickly, shaking his head in some form of apology. He tugs at the sleeves of his blue overcoat, and takes another swig of his tea. It is the perfect temperature now. Leta looks at him incredulously.  
“What? You have absolutely nothing to say? You don’t come and see me before you leave, you don’t reply to my letter and then you attempt to ignore me when you return to London? I don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve this!”   
She is all but hissing the words, keeping her voice low and forcibly under control, like she is being watched, like she must constrain her once boisterous personality.   
Newt meets her eyes then, slight confusion in his eyes, before taking a deep breath and swallowing any nervousness he felt around Leta.  
He wasn’t the same fragile child from Hogwarts. He had seen things now, he was the parent of countless breeds of fantastic beast. He didn’t need to be afraid of her.   
“I can’t possibly think either Leta. How is your scar? The one inflicted by the hippogriff?”   
He nods his head towards her smooth neck, the tip of her pale shoulder just exposed, and blissfully free of any form of magical scar. She shrugs her dress up a bit higher, her bottom lip jutting out. Newt raises a brow and nods in understanding. He fiddles with a loose thread on his cuff for a moment before tilting his head to the side, the long curls of his hair falling down slightly so he has to brush them back from his eyes.   
“Did I ever tell you Leta, that no matter how you attempt to cure a bite or a scar from a magical beast, some tiny inclination of it will always remain? For instance,” he props his hand out for her to observe, which she does, albeit with a curled lip. He points at the web of skin where his thumb meets his forefinger. “There, Pickett, my bowtruckle companion, bit me when he first met me. I tried to shave some wood from his tree, and he didn’t like it one bit. We’re great friends now, but try as I might, that little scar will never go away.”  
He can feel Pickett quivering with happiness at the mention of his name in Newt’s breast pocket, but he reaches over absently and pushes the little creature’s head down so Leta will not see him. He then settles back in his chair, glancing at Leta for an instant and then looking away.   
Despite his new found semi-confidence, he still will never escape his skittishness around other people, his fear of human contact or his social anxiety. Still, he copes better with it now. He would almost grin, if the moment allowed for it.   
Instead he shrugs a shoulder.   
“So I imagine your hippogriff scar must be quite something.”  
Leta is eyeing him with some strange venom, a darkness he hasn’t seen in a long time, and it causes his shoulders to slump slightly as he waits for her venomous retort to match. It doesn’t come. Instead, she sighs and folds her hands beneath her chin, watching him with the intent of a chimera before it snaps the neck of its prey.   
“I’m getting married, you know.”   
He isn’t surprised, but he glances at her with raised brows as though he is. His eyes flicker for the first time to her left hand, where sure enough, he sees a large diamond engagement ring, flanked by two emeralds. They are held in the mouths of two tiny silver serpents.   
His heart twangs in pain, ever so slightly.   
He expects her to capitalize on this slight display of weakness, but instead she blinks impassively, and waits for him to speak. He watches her carefully, noting the change in her.   
She is quieter than before – she seems folded in on herself, like someone has admonished her for speaking or laughing.   
They are the last people left in the Leaky Cauldron – the barman has gone into the kitchens to wash the last of the evenings dishes, and the chairs have begun to stack themselves upon the tables. Leta glances around her, before returning her gaze to him.  
“Do you have a room?”   
He shakes his head dumbly.   
“I was just going to request one when you appeared.”  
She nods her head in understanding, before glancing at him from under her thick lashes.   
“Are you going to ask for one? We could talk some more.”  
He winces slightly. He doesn’t want to speak with her any longer – he knows if he allows her to come to his room, she will use her every cunning ability to make him remember the old Leta; or perhaps she will pretend to be the old Leta when they are alone.   
Or perhaps this was just what Leta was like all along when she was in his company, and he was too blindsided with obsession to notice.   
Instead of refusing her, he stands, picks up his case and crosses to the bar where he speaks lowly with the barman to obtain a room. He picks the cheapest one, with a single bed and wash basin, before turning to Leta and gesturing his head towards the stairs.   
He knows he will regret this in the morning when he has to catch the boat, but he decides he will allow himself this.  
This last encounter with her, to say goodbye. 

-

When they reach the room, he sets his suitcase down delicately at the bottom of his bed and removes his blue woollen coat. He sits down on the bed and begins unlacing his boots as Leta drapes herself over the chair at the vanity table in the corner.   
She looks older, he observes as he pulls one shoe off. Then again, so does he.   
It’s been a good few years since they ran the halls of Hogwarts together, and he can see it in the tiredness behind her dark eyes. When he has finished removing his shoes, he undoes his neck tie and feels hot redness creeping up his face.   
Leta is staring at him.   
He clears his throat in embarrassment before taking his wand from the strap he has at his side and setting it on the bedside table. He meets her dark eyes again. They are raking their way across his body. Finally, she leans forward, elbows on her knees, her smooth bust visible to his eye just down the crease in her dark robes. She raises a brow.  
“Did you hear me when I said I’m getting married?”  
Newt frowns for a moment before nodding. She quirks her head to the side for a moment, before sitting back up.   
“Don’t you care? Don’t you wish you were marrying me? Don’t you want to try and stop me? I love you!”   
Her last three frantic words ring out in the emptiness of the room, against the cold wooden floors and whitewashed walls. Newt eyes her for a moment, his expression sad. He feels his heart pang in terrible sadness, for every emotion that ever used to rage through his veins when he so much as thought of this girl. His chest feels heavy with some strange forgotten love he still feels for her – not true love, as he knows it, like that he feels for his creatures. This is a child’s love – besotted and lonely and desperate for any kind of affection, be it damaging or cruel.   
“You don’t love me, Leta. You never have loved me. You think that you know what it is, but honestly…” he pauses searching for the right words. He takes a deep breath, before meeting her eyes as best he can and attempting to squash the last bit of something that he feels towards her. “I don’t believe you know how to love.”   
Before the final words have left his mouth, Newt knows he has said the right thing. It is strange, that he realises this, because he sees a large, hot tear well up in the corner of Leta’s eye and run down her face. They begin to come thick and fast, silent, salty tears.   
Leta has never once cried in all the years he has known her.   
He watches her for a moment, before he licks his dry lips.   
“I did love you, once. I think. Misplaced as it was, you made me happy when all I thought I was capable of feeling was sadness. No matter what’s changed, Leta – I will always be thankful to you for that.”   
Her eyes are wide, still spilling tears, and almost mad. She makes a large choking sound, clutching her hand over her mouth and doubling over.   
Newt panics for a moment, wondering if he has indeed pushed her too far. When she sits back up, her hands are trembling and her continually flowing tears have made her dark cheeks pale and damp. She looks him dead in the eye, a strange little smile on her face.  
“No one has ever said that to me before,” she whispers thickly. “In my whole life. No one has ever told me that they loved me.”  
Newt lowers his head in desperate sadness for Leta Lestrange, beautiful and lonely and broken. She is like one of the few beasts he has encountered on his travels, who have been tortured and brutalised and never shown love – still utterly awe-inspiring in looks and ability - but irreparably damaged beyond his repair.   
Leta is still weeping bitter tears, not making any attempt to wipe them away as they drip from her proud chin to her lap in a salty river down her cheeks. She sniffs, those sparkling eyes alight with something he has never seen in her before. This broken girl is the true Leta, hidden behind layers of bubbling happiness and maddening curiosity and ferocious temper.   
Newt is unsure how long passes before she sniffs with finality and glances at him.   
“And you leave for New York tomorrow – on another adventure. You’ll probably find the love of your life in America. You’ll be happy for the rest of your life, surrounded by beasts and a family. It’s strange,” her voice is quiet and trembling, her smile bitter. Another tear falls from her face into her lap. “But I want you to have that happiness. Even if I can’t. I want you to be happy Newt Scamander.”   
She sits in silent tears for a moment more, before rising from the chair and moving towards the door.   
Newt, not quite knowing what to say or do, stands to open the door for her, grasping the handle just as she does. Their hands touch for an instant, and Leta clutches her middle as though in physical pain, a wracking sob making her tremble under his hand. He squeezes her knuckles gently before letting go.  
She is close to him now, closer than she has been in years, her curly head a good foot shorter than his own, her eyes wide and dark and empty.   
“I want you to be happy,” she repeats, her voice choked. She sniffs again and just as he goes to insist she leave, she reaches out to hold his cheek in the palm of her hand. She leans into his body, resting her tear strewn eyes on his shoulder and allowing the last remnants of them fade into the cotton of his shirt.   
“Tell me, little badger. Is this what love feels like?”   
Newt feels himself reach up and stroke the back of her head, once, twice, like she is a wounded beast he has rescued. He goes to answer her, tell her that perhaps he was wrong about her inability to feel love, that he was too harsh. Before he can however, she has pulled her head away from him, her eyes devoid of all emotion. Her mask has been reapplied, no trace of her tears or sadness or grief. He meets her cold eyes once more, and she smiles, a slow, haunting smile. She opens the door.   
“Because if it is – I never want to feel it ever again.” 

-

He keeps her picture in his suitcase.


End file.
